


Time and Again

by Doctor_Pterodactyl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: :), Basically Happy Death Day but like, But you're safe for now, Eventual Cullen/OC elf, Eventual Iron Bull/OC elf, I don't know, It can be longer than a day, M/M, OC Elves to be added later, Rating may change to M later, Time Travel, you know?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Pterodactyl/pseuds/Doctor_Pterodactyl
Summary: 'Mitra choked in a gasp, because his left hand, the hand that he was really pretty sure had been amputated almost a year ago by a genocidal egg/elven god had just…flared green. Green with the anchor that shouldn’t even be there anymore. The same green, the same someone’s-hitting-my-hand-with-a-hammer-and-ow pain, the same exact moment that he’d already woken up in four years ago when all of this mess with the end of the world had started.'Or: Four years after the explosion of the Conclave, the ex-Inquisition tried and failed to take down Fen'Harel, with every last soldier, including the ex-Inquisitor, himself, perishing in the battle.And then he woke up.Four years earlier, in Haven's dungeon, being accused of destroying the Conclave.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Pain.

That was all he could feel.

Just…pain.

Burning,  _ splitting _ pain, originating from… Everywhere? Definitely everywhere, but also definitely his head. And also definitely not  _ just _ his head. He traced the pain lower, yes, definitely lower.

Lower…

Lower…

Ah, there!

…Wait.

No, that…couldn’t be right. Or, um, couldn’t be…left? Because…because his…left hand was…gone, wasn’t it? Turned to stone, or something, by…

By…

Mitra’s eyes snapped open.

And then he blinked.

And then he blinked a few more times, because  _ wait what? _

Was he…dreaming?

He went to rub at the pressure behind his throbbing eyes, just to make sure he  _ couldn’t possibly  _ be seeing this correctly, but found himself unable to do so properly because of…shackles?  


Mitra just kind of paused for a moment, staring at his bound wrists, specifically at his previously severed hand, mostly in confusion, but also from a small bit of horror, though it actually kind of mixed in a weird sort of horrified confusion that ended up just being a really awful combination that left his pained mind racing and his breathing a little too fast and his stomach chilled with dread and  _ he wasn’t panicking no of course not- _

Mitra choked in a gasp, because his left hand, the hand that he was  really pretty sure had been amputated almost a  year ago by a genocidal  egg/elven god  had just…flared  _ green_. Green with the anchor that shouldn’t even  _be_ there anymore. The same green, the same someone’s-hitting-my-hand-with-a-hammer-and-ow pain, the  same exact moment that he’d already woken up in  four years ago  when all of this  mess with the end of the world had started.

But that  couldn’t  be right. It couldn’t be  four years ago because he had just been fighting for his life a moment ago - a literal  moment  ago.

But somehow he was…

Everything was…

What was happening?

Was this real? No, this… this couldn’t be real.

_ Creators,_ his head hurt.

This…this wasn’t  possible.

This  couldn’t  be possible.

Except…

Except it very clearly  was.

Everything about Haven's dungeon was the same as he remembered. It was the same stone ceiling, same stone walls, same stone floors, same  guards pointing swords at him-

_ Slam! _

Mitra’s eyes shot to the door, and suddenly  he couldn’t breathe.

_ This couldn’t be possible. _

Because…

Because Cassandra was walking into the room. Cassandra, who had just been…

_ Cracked shield, armour torn to shreds, blood… So much blood… _

He forced air into his lungs as, there, too, was Leliana, walking in right behind her. She... She was okay.

She wasn’t…

_ Eyes ghosted over, blood, blood,  blood- _

How was this  possible? How were they all fine? How was he just…back? As if no time had passed since this all started? As if Fen’Harel,  in the flesh, hadn’t  decimated the forces coming to stop him just, what… a few minutes ago?

As if they all hadn’t…

As if  _ he _ hadn’t…

Mitra’s eyes widened.

_ Oh. _

That was right, he’d…

Well, he was pretty sure he had.

He definitely still felt it. The splitting migraine still seemed to be lingering, but for the life in him, if there even still  was  any, he couldn’t  _ remember._ The actual  moment of fading into blissful nothingness seemed to be eluding him, and yet, somehow, he just  knew he hadn’t survived Fen’Harel’s attempt at going back in time.

…Oh.

Perhaps… Was that what was happening? Was…was it like what had happened with the orb? Had he been the accidental recipient of some magical abomination gone wrong once more? It seemed like the most likely explanation. Well, that or he really  was dreaming, or hallucinating, or  something. Was it possible that this whole thing was a trick? Some sort of twisted attempt to…get into his mind, or something? Torture him emotionally? Was that even something Solas could do?  _ Would _ do? Would he really create some sort of…illusion, meant to trick him into believing that his friends – no, his  family – were okay? Would he really, after all of the pain he’d caused, do something like that?

There were so many questions that were bouncing around in his head, but there was one thing he knew for certain.

He had to get to Solas.

Because that shiny  egg surely had  something to do with all of this.

He just had to talk to Cassandra and make sure he didn’t mess up this first conversation so that she would let him go, and then he would make Solas  explain himself _._

This would be easy. He knew how to talk to her; she was one of his best friends.

This would be easy.

He could  do this.

Cassandra circled him predatorily, her eyes hard and her grip on her sword even harder.

And then, she spoke.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” She glared daggers at him. “The Conclave is destroyed… Everyone who attended is  dead.  Except for you.”

As he looked up at her, Leliana by her side, it made his heart ache to see their open distrust. Two of his closest friends, and they looked as if he were some hardened criminal, rather than someone Cassandra would often read  _ Swords and Shields _ to in the safety of Skyhold’s barn, or someone Leliana would ramble to about baby nugs to cheer him up after he and Dorian had a rare fight.

Mitra squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head and letting his curtain of ginger curls hide him from the prying eyes of the guards still around them.

“I…” he began.

And then, well…

And then, he just burst into tears.

The reaction from his onslaught of weeping was immediate, if not disparate. Mitra heard the light  creak of armour as the guards shifted uncomfortably, most of them not unfamiliar to the weeping of an elf, he knew, though that was all the reaction he could gauge from them, whether or not that was due to his state of mind at the moment. Cassandra, however, acted as if she’d just been struck in the face as she began to sputter, taking several steps back in sheer surprise. No sooner did a sudden bout of rage overtake her, as she threw herself forward and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt.

“Do you believe your tears prove you innocent?” Her face twisted in a sneer. “Or perhaps…they are tears of confession…?”

Mitra gave a sobbing exhale, attempting to will himself to calm down, but it was  _hard_. These people were his  family. He had spent  years establishing relationships with them, and to just have to do it all over again was…overwhelming, to say the least. He still wasn’t even wholeheartedly convinced that this was all real, but if it  was, was he just supposed to pretend the past (er, future?) four years hadn’t happened? That he really  had just stepped out of the Beyond for the first time? For, as far as he was supposed to know, the  only time? That he had no idea what was happening? Well, that last part wasn’t actually a challenge, but the rest still stood.

He was just supposed to…pretend?

Just until he got to Solas, he told himself. Solas would  remember and be able to  explain everything, and…

And…

He didn’t know, actually, but he had to make sure that, if he really  was in the past, that the future ended up, um…not…so much like it had last time.

Mitra squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he looked up at the two women in front of him, nearly falling back over the edge at the sight of them, four years younger and  _alive_. He forced the tears back.

_He could do this._

“No, I… I don’t… W-what do you mean everyone is dead?”

Cassandra growled, dropping him unceremoniously back to the ground, only to grab his left wrist and haul him back.

“Explain  _this_.”

His mark flared green once more, bringing forth a new wave of crushing pain that had him closing his eyes and swallowing hard against it, especially when Cassandra threw his arm back down, making it even  worse and  _ Creators, he had forgotten how badly this cursed hand burned- _

“I… I  can’t.”

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?! ”

Try as he might, Mitra was having trouble recalling  exactly how this conversation went, but he did his best.

“I… I don’t  know. I can’t…remember exactly, I-”

“You’re  _lying_!”

Mitra did, however, remember this part clearly, when she violently lunged for him. The first time this had happened, he'd been convinced Cassandra was going to strangle him. Knowing her how he did now, though, he, uh...wasn' t actually reassured that she wouldn't have. Luckily, both this time and the last, Leliana grabbed Cassandra by the arm and pulled her away from him.  


“We  need him, Cassandra!” she said. He tried to take the small window of time when the two women were turned away to wipe at his wet eyes with his sleeve, but Leliana managed to catch the tail end of it and smiled sympathetically. She walked up to him…not slowly, but gently, almost as if trying not to spook him. “Are you alright?”

Mitra let out a short huff of a laugh, anything but mirthful, and tried to figure out a way to nod and shake his head at the same time. “I’m… I don’t know, I’m just…really overwhelmed.”

Leliana just nodded. That was likely the general consensus of what was going on about now. Rifts splitting reality apart weren’t exactly normal for everyone yet, so  _ everyone _ was probably stressed to the Beyond and back over this. They had no idea that, in about three years, an actual  god would declare his plan to tear reality as they knew it out from under them.

Oh, if only they knew.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

_ Yes_, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. If he told them now, they’d most likely lock him up and write him off as insane, and he really couldn’t afford to mess up that badly so early. He  had to get to Solas. Right now, that was the most important thing in the world.

“I don’t know, I don’t- I-I just…remember, um… r-running. And, uh…a woman?”

“A woman?”

“She, um…” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to remember whatever out-of-it answer he’d given last time. “…reached for me, but…”

At the sound of armour rustling, he looked up to see Cassandra, who had apparently heard enough, backing Leliana up and towards the door. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the Rift.”

And when Leliana looked back at him, it was almost as if he could see a tiny shard of his friend in those hesitant, barely-trusting eyes of hers. A bit of warmth flickered in his heart when she actually looked a little reluctant to leave him, but it fizzled out when she nodded, walking back through the dungeon door and leaving Cassandra to let him out of his shackles. As the metal cuffs fell noisily to the stone floor, one of the several guards that lined the room stepped forward and handed Cassandra a line of rope. Mitra kept his arms still as she rebound his wrists, his eyes following the soldier as they retook their stiff-backed position against the wall. He then looked back at Cassandra, who had just finished tying the ends of the rope into a firm, sloppy knot.  


“What, um… What  did happen?”

When Cassandra looked him in the eye with that accusing, you-know-exactly-what-happened-because-you-caused-it glare, it almost made him want to burst into tears all over again, but he forced himself to settle for taking in a shuddering breath, and allowed the woman to manhandle him to his feet.

“It…” she began, hesitating. “…will be easier to show you.”

And then they were walking. As they moved through the torch-lit hallway, Mitra attempted to take in everything he could with extreme clarity, lest everything spontaneously evaporate. It was strange how much he had missed the dungeon’s wet, musty smell, or the tiny cells that he would often seek refuge in to avoid conversing with the many humans that wanted his "divine" attention. He recalled one specific moment near the very beginning of his heraldry with something akin to sheepish fondness, when he’d been…well, hiding, for what was apparently much longer than he'd thought, and the whole keep had thought he'd been kidnapped. Cullen had nearly dispatched an actual battalion to find him before he’d checked the dungeons on a whim and found him completely unharmed, curled up in the corner of the farthest cell on the wall, absolutely sound asleep. He’d gotten a stern talking-to from both the Commander and Cassandra, but he’d also gotten a relieved hug from Josephine – his first hug  ever from a human in his twenty-two-at-the-time years of life. He'd received many more human hugs in the time since, but that one felt special. That hug, and, honestly, that scolding, had been the first moment he’d actually felt like these humans  cared about him. For more than just his glowing hand, that is. It had sparked a sort of hope within him that maybe, just maybe, these were humans that, for once, he could trust. It had built the foundation of the friendships that had grown into family, and the very thought of it had a gentle smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“What…is  _ funny _ ?”  


Mitra blinked a few times, his gaze lifting up at the frowning Seeker who was practically dragging him up the dungeon stairs and into the main hall. 

“Nothing,” he forced himself to say. Cassandra stopped moving, and stared at him coldly, very clearly expecting a little bit more of an answer. “I’m, uh… Just…a little overwhelmed…?”

Would that work for a second time? Because the first time was only, like, thirty seconds ago, and it was still true, so maybe-

“And being  overwhelmed makes you  smile?”

His brain seemed to come to a halt and he just blankly stared at her for a moment, his ability to think suddenly abandoning him.

“Um… Yeah…?”

The words came out as a confused and choked question, and it really didn’t seem like she completely bought it, so he gave her a hesitant and please-believe-me type of grin to, uh… probably make it worse. He was pretty sure that he held the grin a bit too long to make it seem like he had been telling the truth, but eventually Cassandra just rolled her eyes and continued to drag him down the hall and out the door.

And when those doors opened, Mitra had to bring his arm up to protect against the blinding green light that could only be coming from…

Oh. Right.  That was back.

Several different emotions raged through him when he finally saw the Breach and realized that, yes,  this was happening again, too. It was…well, horror. And a bit of pure, unbridled, terror. But the thing he felt the most was the bolt of exhaustion that made his shoulders suddenly feel a bit heavier. Mitra knew that he was making some sort of unpleasant facial expression based on the odd look Cassandra gave him.

“We…” she started, hesitating at his look of what could only be extreme disdain locked on the green tear in the sky. She cleared her throat and started again. “We call it ‘The Breach’. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the  only such rift. Just the largest.  All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Honestly, Mitra didn’t remember what he’d said to that last time. He wasn’t even sure if he  _ had _ said anything last time. He just remembered the moment of first seeing the Breach, and then a high-pitched ringing in his ears as he internally screamed at the situation. He’d been easily overwhelmed, back then. He…still was now, actually.

Right now, specifically.

When Mitra didn’t speak, just continued squinting angrily at the hole in the sky, she continued. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Mitra made some kind of groaning whine sound that had Cassandra scowling at him.

He  really didn’t want to have to do this all over again, but if that was what it took to get his family back, he’d do it.

He  had to.

_ Crack! _

Mitra couldn’t stop the cry that escaped him when the anchor flared up again, his legs collapsing from under him as he crumpled onto the snow.  _ Venhedis_, he had not missed this arm after it was gone, and he certainly felt no love for it now. He grimaced, practically curling in on himself as aftershocks pulsed their way up his whole arm. Cassandra kneeled down in front of him, a look of reluctant sympathy in her eyes.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… And it  _ is _ killing you.”

“You don’t say?”

Cassandra huffed, giving him a less than pleased look. “It  may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. “Okay.”

For a moment, Cassandra had a spark of hope in her cold glare. “Then…?”

Mitra gave her a small - slightly forced and a little pained, but it was the thought that counted - smile. Might as well start their friendship right this time, rather than just stare at her with wide, terrified eyes until she physically dragged him onward like he specifically, embarrassingly, remembered doing last time. “I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”

Though hesitant, Cassandra actually returned a light quirk of her lips and a respectful nod. And then she painfully pulled him to his feet by a too-hard grip on his bicep, but that was just how Cassandra showed love. He was, uh…pretty sure, at least.

As the two of them trudged through the icy, slushy mud of Haven, Mitra tried not to look at the people glaring at him. He was fairly certain he heard someone mutter a racial slur, but he decided to be the bigger person and resolved to the idea of throwing something at them  _ after _ he had temporally sealed the Breach.

Cassandra must’ve heard it too, or at least seemed to notice how tense he’d gone, as her harsh grip loosened the barest bit and her tone wasn’t quite as sharp. “They have…decided your guilt. They  need it.”

“I understand.” His voice came out much smaller than he expected it to. It really did hurt to go from being a beloved friend and leader in the eyes of the Inquisition to being a… a criminal.

A murderer.

There was silence between them for a long while as they walked further and further along the pathway, both of them obviously in deep thought. Mitra took a quick glance at Cassandra to see if her expression gave anything away, and was surprised to see a deep frown on her face. He probably shouldn’t prod, but…

“You okay?”

Cassandra met his gaze, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. He tried to keep his expression kind and open so as not to provoke her. After a moment, she just turned her face away from him to stare ahead. He almost thought she wouldn’t answer him, but then she spoke. “The people of Haven mourn our most holy… Divine Justinia. Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was  _ hers_. It was a chance for  peace  between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders  together. Now they are  dead.”

On the surface she sounded angry, but in the years he’d known her, he’d learned that anger was just the default tone in her voice. And now that he was actually listening instead of trembling in fear at a human taking him, bound at the wrists, through group after group of  _ other  _ humans, perish the  _ thought_, he could hear the pain in her voice. As they waited for the heavy wooden door that lead to the first bridge up the mountain to open for them, Mitra felt the need to say something. “I’m so sorry that all of this happened, but I really do mean it when I say that I will help you in any way I can to make this right again.”

Cassandra gave him an appraising, mildly suspicious look, but eventually just nodded stiffly and continued forward to pull him through the newly opened door.

“I appreciate your willingness. In times such as these, we must think beyond ourselves – as  _ she _ did. Until the Breach is sealed.” She let him go, then, moving around him to pull out a small knife, and  Creators, he remembered how badly that had scared him at the time. A feral look had entered his eyes and he’d backed away so quickly he’d almost tripped over his own boots before Cassandra had grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him back to her.

 _ “Relax. I am merely cutting the rope,” _ she’d said, and he’d felt like a bit of a fool. This time, he stood still, allowing her to bring the knife to the binds in silence. “There  will be a trial. I can promise no more.” And then she cut the ropes in one swift slice, allowing him to rub his freed wrists tenderly. His fair skin had likely contused under his tatty sleeves, and it made him wonder if the ropes had been that tight last time. Logically, of course they had been. Mitra nodded his thanks to her, and she turned to continue walking. “Come. It is not far.”

“What isn’t far?” he asked, a light grin tugging at his lips. “The trial?”

She huffed out what could’ve been a laugh and purposely walked a bit faster to get ahead of him. "No. Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

Mitra quickened his steps, matching her stride so he could walk next to her. “We could just test it on my self-esteem. You know, if we need something small?”

Cassandra gave him a please-shut-up look and kept walking, clearly actively choosing not to humour him. “Open the gate! We are headed into the valley.”

The two of them walked quickly and quietly along the pathway, the only noises being the crackling of the Breach in the distance and the sound of snow and gravel under their boots. That was, until the anchor sparked to life again. Mitra grit his teeth together to stifle his pained grunt, but he managed to stay on his feet. Cassandra, Creators bless her, took him by the shoulders anyways to help steady him.

“The pulses are coming faster now.”

Mitra swallowed hard against the pain, only managing to give Cassandra a pained "mhm" as any confirmation. She gave him a gentle, kind of awkward little pat on the shoulder before they kept moving.

“The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear… The more demons we face,” she commented, seemingly offhandedly, as they neared the door to the second bridge. They were making fairly good time, it seemed. They’d still been on the pathway during this conversation last time. Or, uh… He was pretty sure? Something about this memory was fuzzy. Not, like, panic fuzzy, more like full on blackout drunk, can’t-remember-if-you-tried… blank.

Whatever had happened last time, he  really felt like this moment was important. So much so that his breathing was picking up just thinking about… whatever it was _._

But what was it?

As the two of them walked onto the bridge, retreating soldiers running past them, Mitra racked his brain and tried to come up with  _ anything_.

He was pretty sure he might’ve asked her something last time?

Was it just that?

No, no, he was forgetting something important. Something was supposed to happen  really soon _,_ something crucial, but he just…couldn’t  remember. Maybe he’d hit his head during whatever happened here? Wait, wait, yes actually, that sounded– It was almost–

_ “How is your head feeling?” _

_ “It’s…definitely one of my worse days. I’m so sorry. Out of any day to get such a splitting migraine, it had to be on my one day off that I wanted to spend with you, and now–” _

_ “Shh, Amatus, it’s not your fault. We can just spend the day in here, yes? Nothing says ‘day off’ like lying in bed all day with a gorgeous man in your arms, yes?” _

_ “I know you mean you.” _

_ “Perish the thought!” _

The flash of memory sent a shiver through him, his throat tightening and his eyes stinging as a…decidedly much worse memory flooded through him.

_ Staff in splinters, sun-kissed Tevinter skin burned crimson, sterling elven ring melted to his hand- _

He snapped himself out of it. He’d get him back. He’d get them all back. But this, right here, right now, was just a bridge. A bridge that he felt  extremely  nervous about crossing for some reason. Creators, what had happened? Why would this moment be so critical to his life that he felt such anxiety merely stepping  foot–

“Look out!”

Mitra wasn’t quite sure who had called out, but he saw the blinding green light of the demon/boulder mixture that the Breach had spit in their direction just a moment too late.

Too late for himself, that was.

He had a split-second reaction that consisted only of the thought of protecting his family, whatever the cost, and he shoved Cassandra ahead of him, not even seeing her crash safely to the ground on the other side of the bridge before–

_ Pain. _

That was all he could feel.

Just…pain.

Blinding,  burning pain, originating from…

Everywhere?

Definitely everywhere, but also definitely his head.

Ugh, how had he  survived that?

Mitra didn’t want to open his aching eyes quite yet, but he knew that he had to get up and assess the damage he’d suffered so that he could check to see if any of the soldiers had made it out of the blast as miraculously unscathed as he’d seemed to. A groan tore its way out of his throat as he struggled to force his eyes open, only to wince and shut them tightly again at the fresh wave of nausea that rolled through him. On second thought, maybe he’d just stay kneeling on this cold, firm, stone ground for a second and, uh… mentally assess…the…uh...

…Wait.

Kneeling?

On a stone floor?

Mitra’s eyes snapped open.

Stone ceiling, stone walls, stone floors _,_ guards pointing swords at him–

No no  no, this wasn’t–

This  _ couldn’t– _

His left hand sparked and flared a bright, acid green and Mitra couldn’t find it in himself to hold back his agonized wail at the burning pain. Holding his shackled hands close to his chest, Mitra let out shuttering sobs, though no tears came this time. Just pained, too-quick breaths, and pure, hopeless panic.

He _hadn’t_ survived the explosion on the bridge.

_ Slam! _

Mitra’s slightly wild eyes darted to the dungeon door, disbelief filling him as Cassandra walked through, Leliana right behind her.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Cassandra’s voice felt too loud, even over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he turned his panicked gaze to her. “The Conclave is destroyed… Everyone who attended is  dead.  Except for you.”

What in the name of every god, every goddess, every _religion_ , was happening to him?!

Mitra gasped for proper breath in a way that sounded like an incredulous, strained laugh, but whether that was due to his mental state beginning to buckle under his circumstances or merely the hyperventilation, he wasn’t sure. Cassandra growled lowly at him, and he looked up at her with desperate eyes, when suddenly, something about her angry, harsh,  _ living _ breathing…made  sense.

Twice now, he should be dead. Twice now, he _was_ dead, but... But twice now, upon his death, he had travelled back in time to this moment, before any of it had happened, and it gave him a shred of an idea. For better or worse, he seemed to have a chance to make everything that had ever gone wrong in his years with the Inquisition  right again. The massacre of his clan, Garrett Hawke sacrificing his life in the Beyond, Solas…

Solas.

Something long-extinguished lit up in Mitra’s eyes.

Maybe, if he could catch all of this sooner, talk to him earlier, make him listen to reason instead of trying to fix his centuries-old mess with a bigger mess, Mitra wouldn’t have to let everyone he loved die attempting to take down a stray god. Maybe he could fix the main problem before it even happened.

Maybe he could fix _everything_. 

It was a small chance.

But it was a _chance_.

_ He could do this. _

And with his resolve firmly in place, he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep, steadying breath, and lifted his lavender gaze again to meet that of the women glaring down at him.

“What do you mean everyone’s dead?”


	2. The Times They Are A-Changin’

“Can we, um…go any faster? L-like, can we, uh, get there faster? Please?”

Currently, Mitra and Cassandra were, once again, walking along the snowy pathway just outside Haven, heading towards the forward camp. Given the, uh… unfortunate events that had happened previously, the plan was that, with his newly acquired second (third?) chance, Mitra was going to try to avoid dying a fiery death again.

Obviously.

This time, though, the plan was to prevent that same fate from occurring to all those soldiers on the bridge. Now that he remembered their deaths, he couldn’t let them die again. He just had to get there a little bit faster this time and at this rate, he probably could’ve crawled there faster.

Because Cassandra, bless her cold heart, was making this trip as long as she possibly could by walking in front of him at the pace of a drugged druffalo.

And sure, her hostility was probably – definitely – his fault due to maybe being a bit too enthusiastic to get to the forward camp as fast as possible, which _he_ knew was because Solas was on the way, but Cassandra, well… Knowing Cassandra, she was obviously extremely suspicious of why a suspected criminal wanted to get to a mildly isolated, people-filled place so badly.

And so Cassandra, no doubt due to his fidgeting and his fervor and his constant ‘Are we there yet?’-ing, did the one thing that he didn’t have time for.

She stopped walking.

He tried to walk around her, but Cassandra grabbed him, holding him in place with a too-tight grip on his bicep that actually had him wincing. She looked him in the eye with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

She looked mad.

Like, really mad.

“Why are you so eager?”

Mitra’s face went through a variety of expressions as he tried to come up with a better reason than ‘You know the bridge after this one? Yeah, the one you’re taking me across so that I can talk to that one guy about how I didn’t blow up the Conclave and didn’t kill a bunch of people? Yeah, that’s gonna blow up too, and those people are _also_ going to die. Don’t ask me why I know. I’m innocent, I swear.’

“I…” he paused, floundering. “enjoy…walking fast.”

Nailed it.

Cassandra gave him a classic Cassandra-y look that told him he did not, in fact, nail it, but she seemed to decide that stabbing him for his perfectly normal and not at all awkward answer wasn’t worth it. Instead, she just huffed out an annoyed breath and continued along, finally pulling him through the doors to the first bridge in that same too-slow pace. As they stepped onto the cobblestones, Cassandra, though clearly hesitant, released him from her iron grip, and Mitra could swear that he actually felt the flow of blood return to his arm.

He stood still as she circled him, lifting his wrists slightly so that she could cut his binds. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” And then she cut the ropes in one swift slice. Just like last time, just like the first time, and for, hopefully, the last time. As she began to turn away from him, Mitra eyed her carefully. “Come. It is not far.”

Mitra told no jokes this time, and simply followed after her quietly. How was he supposed to get to the bridge sooner this time if she was walking directly in front of him? He actually swore that she was walking _slower_ now, but that might’ve been his imagination.

“Open the gate!” she called to the guards. “We are headed into the valley.”

And as the doors began to open, Mitra resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to do things a little differently if he actually wanted to get there in time. Assuming he didn’t get hit in the face by a giant demon boulder again, he hoped Cassandra would forgive him for breaking whatever shaky trust they currently had between them. Mitra silently walked behind her until they had just barely passed through the exiting gate, and then sighed so heavily that Cassandra actually stopped again. She gave him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like a mixture of impatient, annoyed, and something just very distinctly Cassandra-like.

“What?” she asked flatly.

Mitra took a deep breath. “I, uh… I’m sorry for this.”

He saw a blossoming look of realization and fury cross Cassandra’s face before his world was enveloped in the blue light of his fadestep spell. He directed himself forward and in the blink of an eye he was halfway up the path. Mitra didn’t wait for her to catch up and instead just took off running towards the doomed bridge. He could hear the clanking of armour somewhere behind him and Cassandra shouting something at him, but he couldn’t stop. These people were going to die, and he wasn’t going to let it happen for a third time! Even though his mana hadn’t quite returned enough for another jump Mitra reached for it anyways and fadestepped again, this time landing right in front of the bridge doors.

He leaned against the stone archway, his world spinning around him. Just then, the mark on his hand burned green and Mitra gritted his teeth against the pain. Gripping his left wrist tightly in an attempt to stop the trembling of his arm, Mitra pushed away the nausea, pushed away the burning in his palm, and took a deep breath.

“Get back!” he screamed. All of the soldiers on the bridge looked at him, startled, and a few even pulled out their weapons. He didn’t have time for this! “The bridge is going to explode!” Mitra shrieked at them. “Move! Get back! _Now!_ ”

Whether it was his words or the distant rumble of the Breach threatening to prove him right, the soldiers all scrambled back through the doorway opposite to him. And just in time, too, because-

_Boom!_

The stone path beneath him shook from the force of the explosion and Mitra lost his balance, his head cracking against the rock below him. He gasped raggedly, coughing and wheezing as his lungs filled with the plume of dust that has erupted from the old bridge. Probably faster than his most-likely-developing-concussion would prefer, he forced himself to sit up, panting heavily as he tried to blink away the spots in his vision.

It was eerily quiet, the ringing in his ears and the distant rumbles of the Breach the only noise to accompany the clattering of dislodged stones falling onto the frozen lake below.

And as the dust finally cleared, Mitra couldn’t help but stare at the living, breathing soldiers on the other side of the ruined bridge in giddy disbelief.

He’d… He’d done it.

They were alive.

Mitra let out a breathy, tired laugh.

They were alive! He’d actually-!

“What…did you _do_?”

Ah.

Mitra looked up at Cassandra as she came to a halt next to him, her movements slow and cautious as she stared at the remnants of the bridge in horror.

“I- Uh… I-”

“You were yelling that the bridge was to be destroyed!” she interrupted. “How did you know that would happen?”

Mitra completely froze, his mouth half-open like a not-crazy explanation would just come out for him. It did not, so instead, he turned to look at the demons that had crawled out of the boulder’s wreckage. He pointed at them, his movements slow and sluggish.

“Look! It’s, uh, demons!”

Cassandra growled, then fixed him with a stern glare that he knew from experience meant this conversation was only temporarily dropped. “Stay here. I will deal with them.”

Before he could even voice his complaints about her leaving without him, Cassandra turned away and began carefully climbing down the wreckage of the bridge and onto the ice beneath them. Mitra groaned deep in his throat, pushing himself up with his shaky arms to stand on his shaky legs. By the time he hopped down on the ice, thankfully managing to not fall on his face, Cassandra was already engaged in battle, carefully dodging the swiping claws and slashing at the creatures with her sword.

He should, ah…probably do more than just stand still.

Mitra spun on his heel to look around for a weapon, barely managing to catch sight of a simple staff that had fallen from the bridge before a sudden wave of nausea crashed over him. The world seemed to keep spinning even after he’d stopped moving, and his face felt cold and numb, and sounds were all too loud in his ears, and-

And suddenly, he found himself lying on the ice.

Mitra groaned, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the dizzying spinning, felt the cold beginning to seep through the back of his green coat as he lied there, and he used the feeling to ground himself back to reality. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he heard the fight a short bit away continuing on, which…wasn’t right.

Hadn’t this fight been extremely quick the first time? Yes, he remembered, they had originally-

His eyes shot open.

Oh!

Mitra rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed himself to his feet, breathing through the continued nausea that seemed to radiate from the back of his definitely-concussed head. He tried to focus on the chill of snow on his cheeks, the bite of the wind, _anything_ other than the desire to find the nearest empty bucket. Once the feeling had subsided the barest bit, he made a beeline for the staff he’d seen before.

He remembered this weapon well.

It really wasn’t even that great of a staff, but it had gotten him quite a long way, lasting him until that horrible Redcliffe future, where a Red Templar had yanked it from his hands and snapped it over his knee. Mitra remembered giving the corrupted man an incredulous stare before just opening a rift above the poor fool.

Maybe he’d try to keep a better grip this time. Or perhaps fashion some sort of handle so he could hold onto it.

Digging his gloved nails into the wood, Mitra scraped the bottom of the metaphorical barrel for his slowly-returning mana, the pastel purple of his eyes glittering the slightest bit brighter as he conjured electricity to life in his palm. And as Cassandra swung her blade at the creature, Mitra whipped the thrumming current into the fray, the bolt striking the deadly blade of her broadsword and cutting through the demon in a blistering flash of light.

They’d practiced this move dozens, if not hundreds of times, but no matter how many times he’d seen it, the vision of the shock of lightning cutting through the air was still just was beautiful as ever.

There was a little screeching sound as the demon dissolved, and Mitra sagged heavily against the staff. “It’s over.”

Cassandra whipped around furiously to face him, pointing her lightly smoking sword warningly at his chest.

“Drop your weapon! Now!”

_“Okay!” he’d said the first time, letting the staff clatter onto the ice below as he raised his hands in surrender._

This time, though, he spared a glance to the staff. He pressed his face further into the old wood and pursed his lips at her.

“If it’s alright, I think I’d rather not.”

Cassandra looked flabbergasted.

“I need to be able to defend myself if I’m ever going to survive to reach that hole in the sky,” he explained. Really, though, he just missed his staff.

She looked conflicted for several long, painfully quiet seconds, before she finally sighed. “You’re right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”

Cassandra gestured for him to begin walking again, though she walked in step with him instead of in front like the first time.

He wondered what that could have meant.

As they began the trek through the snow once more, Cassandra turned to look at him. “I should remember you only ran from me to save many lives.”

Mitra smiled genuinely at her.

“How did you know the bridge was to explode?”

The smile dropped.

“The, uh, mark…”

“The mark?”

“Yes. Yeeesss, it uh… S-Spoke- Um… I- It spoke to me?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She then closed it, swallowed, and then tried again. “It…can do that?”

“…Sure.”

“Does it still speak?”

“Uh-”

“Does it speak to you now? What does it tell you?”

A mildly panicked expression crossed Mitra’s face. “Right now? Oh, it’s- it’s not talking right now because… Well, there’s no, um… no danger- well, I mean, no _immediate_ danger right now, so-”

A gasp tore its way out of Mitra’s throat as a bolt of pain stabbed through his skull.

Which was probably good because he was digging himself into a hole with every word that came out of his mouth.

Mitra stumbled on his own boots and fell to his knees. The snow that lined the lake soaked through the heavy cloth of his pants, and he barely even noticed when Cassandra kneeled down next to him to nudge something into his gloved right hand.

“Take this potion. Maker knows what we will face, and I cannot have you collapsing again when we do.”

Mitra grimaced but did as he was told, uncorking the potion and throwing it back. It took everything in him not to cough as the cold liquid went down. His taste buds in his own timeline had long since gone numb to the bitter concoction, but it appeared that this younger version of himself hadn’t quite acquired that particular luxury.

He cleared the tingly burning sensation from his throat, the snow-chilled mixture transforming into warmth that buzzed through his body like an electrical current under his skin.

“Thanks. You, um… saw me fall earlier?”

“I did.” Cassandra rose to her feet and extended a hand, waiting until he had pulled himself up before she spoke again. “Was it the mark that caused it?”

“No, um…” Mitra laughed. It sounded kind of stupid now. “I… hit my head when the bridge…did the thing.”

Cassandra nodded. “And you are alright now?”

“Uh-huh. Just, uh, the next time I stand next to an exploding bridge I’m gonna set some pillows down first.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but he was pretty sure he saw a smile, small as it might’ve been. With a pang, he realized how strongly he missed when she would laugh openly at his dumb jokes.

He never realized all the little things he’d taken for granted before.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He was going to soak in every single experience this time, and get everything right. He’d _survive_ to get it right, just so he could see his friends smile and laugh every day.

Every single day.

They were going to survive this.

He refused to believe in any other option.

“You are staring.”

Mitra jerked out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I…” He cleared his throat again, the bitter taste finally fading. “We should, uh… Forward Camp, right?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the clear subject change, but she let it go and began walking. “Yes. We should keep moving.”

Mitra followed after her closely, and once again, they were trudging through the snow. The trip was mostly silent with the exception of a few more demons getting in the way of an otherwise rather peaceful journey. During these minor battles, Mitra allowed himself to fall back into the routine he’d grown accustomed to in the four years he’d been fighting demons with her. Granted, it had slowed down in the more recent months, but he and his companions had been fighting these exact same demons for so long that even now, even with how scarce they’d become after killing Corypheus and sealing the Breach, it was practically second nature at this point.

And then…

“We’re getting close to the rift! You can hear the fighting!”

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, and he was honestly really nervous. This was when he was going to meet a lifelong friend and… And Solas. What if he couldn’t convince him to change? What if Solas wouldn’t at least tell him what he’d done to him? What if he didn’t _know?_

Oh Creators, what if he didn’t know? What if _no one_ knew and he managed to survive this whole ordeal and do everything right only to just trip on something at an old, ripe age and just go right back to the beginning because there was no one who knew why this was happening and-

“Are you alright?”

Mitra snapped out of it and realized that he had just been staring ahead unblinkingly as they walked. He nodded a little too rapidly. “Yes. Screaming internally, but yes.”

Cassandra gave him a strange look that included raised eyebrows for dramatic effect, and probably a little bit of concern for this easily panicked elf that she was tasked with guiding to the Breach. He grinned sheepishly at her.

And then his eyes snapped forward as he realized that the fighting really _was_ audible.

Mitra twirled his staff and picked up the pace, letting a thrilled smile cross his lips at the sight of Varric in the middle of the fight, firing arrows like the glorious man that he was.

And then he saw Solas and tried not to let the internal screaming become external.

Mitra threw himself into the skirmish, relishing in the buzzing warmth inside him as he threw lightning bolt after lightning bolt at the demons. Some people might’ve called him a little strange for it, but he absolutely _loved_ fighting with his magic. He loved the overwhelming feeling of letting his inner storm out to help fight against creatures that, unfortunately, couldn’t be reasoned with. He’d tried, a long time ago, to communicate with them, and they just didn’t really want to hear it. And thus, he got electrocute them, which was always a good stress reliever.

All too soon, it was over, and Solas was invading Mitra’s personal space to grab his wrist and direct it to close the rift.

He said something, but it was suddenly drowned out in the pure agony that engulfed his hand. Maybe this younger version of himself hadn’t gotten used to this yet, or maybe the pain really had lessened over the years, but closing this rift right here and now _burned_. It felt like every bone in his hand was being broken, like every muscle and tendon was being torn, like that time he’d leaned his right hand on molten silver in Dagna’s forge and had to be waited on by healers for a month before he could curl his fingers without stabbing pain again.

Mitra grit his teeth so hard they ached and squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars until _finally_ the rift imploded in on itself and the agony subsided significantly. It was still there – it was always there – but he’d forgotten how horrible it was to close rifts with a body that had never done so before.

The chill of the wind cooled the sweat that had beaded on his forehead and when he opened his eyes, he was looking at Solas. The older elf looked smug and opened his mouth to speak, but Mitra cut him off.

“What did you do?” Mitra spoke in Elven, not wanting the others to overhear what was likely to sound certifiable. “Please, what did you do to me?”

Solas looked unsure of the situation, but responded in Elven nonetheless. “If you mean the mark on your hand, I have done nothing to you-“

“ _No,_ ” Mitra stressed. His heart sunk a bit, but he tried to not let his disappointment overtake him. He hadn’t been specific in the slightest, so it was extremely likely that Solas just needed him to narrow it down a little. “This… This revival curse. Or… blessing, or…”

“Revival curse?” Solas looked confused and huffed out what might’ve been an awkward laugh. “I apologise, but I am not quite sure what you mean.”

At Mitra’s crestfallen expression, Solas cleared his throat and began speaking in common. “Perhaps we may speak of this later so you may go into more detail on the subject. For now, though, we must focus on the mark. I theorized that it may be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said, walking up behind them. Solas nodded.

“Possibly.” The yet-to-be-revealed Elven God glanced back to Mitra. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Mitra hugged his staff close to him, trying not to lose hope. Solas said they’d talk later, and he hoped to all things holy that he meant it. “Good to know.”

“Hey, I was gonna say that!”

The voice behind him startled him into spinning around.

“Whoa,” Varric laughed. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Mitra was…overwhelmed, to say the least. The last time he’d seen Varric, other than just two minutes ago, was on a battlefield strewn with the bodies of the Inquisition. He could recall with crystal clarity the moment Varric had taken an arrow meant for the famed ex-Inquisitor himself. Mitra could remember his raw throat when he’d screamed at the sight of Varric, arrow in his chest as he went off that cliff.

They’d never gotten to recover his body, but then again, they’d never gotten to recover any of them because it had just…never happened, apparently.

“Kid?” Varric interrupted his gloomy thoughts. “You okay?”

“Mildly traumatized, but who isn’t?”

“Hah! That’s the spirit!” Varric hoisted his crossbow up further and held out his hand to shake. He hadn’t done that the first time, but maybe Mitra made a better impression this time around than the terrified and shaking-in-pain kid he’d been when they’d previously met. “Varric Tethras! Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

Mitra could legitimately _feel_ Cassandra rolling her eyes behind him, but he ignored it and took Varric’s hand.

“Mitra Lavellen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lavellen?” Solas broke in. “You are Dalish, then?”

Mitra crossed his arms, instinctively defensive, but inclined his head nonetheless. “Something wrong with that?”

Solas clasped his hands together in front of him and smiled that disarming smile of his that only made Mitra’s muscles tighten in trepidation. It clearly said ‘I have opinions that are better than yours’ and he hated it. “I was merely curious. You bear your clan name yet no vallaslin, despite seeming to be of age. May I ask why?”

Something in his chest stuttered.

 _Leather in golden hands, fresh crimson dripping over aged lines, pain, pain,_ pain-

He grit his teeth and smiled a forced, tight, all too fake smile as a long-dead argument with his own Solas suddenly was resurrected. “No, Solas, you may not _ask why_ because that isn’t your _business_ -”

“Ooooookay.” Varric forced himself between the two elves, seeming to sense the static growing in the air around Mitra with every word. “Let’s all cool down a bit, huh?” Varric gave Mitra a pointed look. “And by ‘all’ I mean you, Sparky. Can’t you elves just get along?”

Right. He was supposed to be convincing Solas to be a better person, not acting all standoffish with him. It was just… Seeing Solas in person made Mitra remember how much he disliked the man’s holier-than-thou attitude. Still, though, he gave Varric an apologetic look and nodded his affirmation.

“Sorry,” he said, not actually feeling _too_ sorry. “So, now that we have the two of you, should we get going?”

Cassandra jerked to attention. “’Two of you’? Absolutely not! Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric interrupted. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You _need_ me.”

There was a beat of silence as the two stared at each other, one smug and the other very practically steaming in anger and annoyance. Eventually, Cassandra turned away with a disgusted noise while Varric laughed triumphantly. Mitra gave him a soft smile, but couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. He was more than ready to blame it on the cold, but… Ugh, there was a strange feeling that he couldn’t quite shake.

It…

Well.

It was like someone was watching him. And as Mitra glanced behind him, he saw exactly why.

Solas was just staring at him, a look in his eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. It almost looked… suspicious? What did Solas, of all people, have to be suspicious of? With everything he’d done during the four years that Mitra had known him, Solas was the suspicious one! He’d… Solas had killed his friends. His _family._ He would do all he could to get Solas on his side, but if he couldn’t…

He feared the choice he knew he may have to make one day. That was, if he could even survive long enough to make it there.

If Solas didn’t just kill him again.

And all at once, the moment was broken by Varric clapping a hand on Mitra’s back and scaring him half to death. The dwarf let out a booming laugh at Mitra’s squeak, but otherwise didn’t comment, instead just opting to grab him around the elbow and pull him away. Somewhere behind the two of them, Solas and Cassandra began speaking to each other, but it was drowned out by Varric’s voice and mildly chastising expression.

“Look, kid,” he started. “I dunno what’s going on with the two of you and I dunno if you did or didn’t destroy the Conclave, but you’re not going to convince anyone of your innocence if you keep glaring and snapping and sparking at Chuckles over there.”

Had he been glaring and sparking?

Oops.

Mitra nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Varric patted him on the bicep before his stern look eased into an uneasy smile. “So. _Are_ you innocent?”

Well, if he wanted to do this right… Mitra let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair, wincing a bit as his fingers caught and tugged at his horridly wind-tangled curls.

“I-ow. I don’t remember what happened.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “That’ll getcha every time. Should’ve spun a story!”

“That’s what _you_ would’ve done.”

Cassandra’s old words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Varric’s eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth and a shred of confusion.

“I’ve, um…” He wracked his brain for an explanation for the far-too-friendly phrase that he’d just said to a supposed stranger. “…read your books.”

Varric’s eyes lit up. “Ah! A fan, are you?”

“S-something like that, sure-”

“We must get to the forward camp quickly.” Mitra sighed in relief as Cassandra broke into their conversation. She walked past the two of them, Solas trailing behind her, and as Mitra followed he tossed a genuine smile back to Varric.

“Shall we?”

Varric laughed, the sound washing over him like a breath of fresh air.

“We shall!”

And then they were walking, and for a moment, Mitra could convince himself that it was a few months into the future, that the Inquisition was thriving with people he trusted, and that nothing had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it :) See you next time!


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